Rising Anger
by Ashton Lithe
Summary: What happens when Ivan is finally confronted about his anger and cruelty?  Not the best summary, but whatever.  Rated M. Don't like, don't read. Ivan Russia /OC Emma Antarctica


"You always do this, Ivan!"

"Do what?"

"Push people away! They try to make friends with you, and then you go and fuck everything up!" His hand eagerly met her face, sending her to the floor. There, that flash in his eyes. It was like a thunderstorm had just settled upon them, darkening and threatening to let loose the beast.

"What do I do?" She had backed down so many times before, to lessen her punishment. But not this time.

"You push people away. You have no social skills. All you ever think about is working, or those stupid sunflowers of yours, or how to threaten people into having a good time with you." There it was again. The thunder flashed in his deep purple eyes. His hand met with her face again; a scream flew into the air. He was on her within seconds, pinning her down to the floor by sheer size. His fist wrapped itself in her turtleneck and hauled her up a few inches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you have a problem." The spots where he had slapped her were welting and swelling. Soon, her words would become slurred. That's what always happened. He threw her down in disgust. His accent grew thicker as he ranted to himself. _Stay still, you've fucked yourself over as it is…_ Emma thought, keeping herself still. He was still bigger than her. He could kill her, if he wanted. The only thing that stopped him from doing so the times before was the fact that he still wanted her in some way. She wasn't quite sure how, but he did.

He left the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Quiet. Silence. Footsteps. A thick smell invaded the air. Emma couldn't for the life of her place it, until Ivan walked back into the room. He had shed his shirt. There, leaning on his left shoulder, was his trusty pipe. It had rusted over the years, a fact that he had yet to notice or take care of. Emma bit back her whimper. He had never drawn this weapon on her before.

"You are lucky, da. Lucky in the fact that your beautiful face is not mine, yet. You still belong to Alfred, and shall stay such. I would hate to break such a pretty toy like you. And you know how I treat my toys." Images of Yao after one of their fights flooded Emma's mind. He had only shown the wounds to her. He had belonged to Ivan, at one point, and Ivan had broken him completely. As a result, Yao was having issues living by himself, still struggling to be independent. Add that to the horrible flashbacks he had, and out popped an equation for one messed up person. Emma shuddered at the thought of becoming like him. Sure, she was dependant on Alfred for a lot of things, but he wasn't the only person that she could go to…

"Get up." Ivan's ordered chilled her to the bone. She stood up shakily, reaching a hand to gingerly touch her bruising cheek. A wall did it. Yeah, she ran in to a wall, like always. "Come here." She had to come up with some sort of plan…

Her footsteps felt like they were going in slow motion. The distance to Ivan seemed to double and triple with each step. The walls melted, her stomach churned, and her heart seemed to be making love to her throat. There was no time.

His large hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her forward and into his body. His nails dug into her fair skin. Pain, pleasure, nausea, excitement, dread – her mind couldn't seem to focus on any one thing for more than a second. She trembled in his heavy grasp. No time.

Instead of the pipe, a sharp knife met her revealed skin. It didn't bite into her skin like she had expected. It just sat there, cold and threatening, like the Russian holding her.

"I don't want to hurt you." His voice was broken. He took a trembling breath. His next words were slightly melodic. "You bring out my terrible, oh, so wonderful." His eyes darkened again. Emma barely suppressed a shiver at his words. His knife slid down to her skirt, slicing through it neatly. It was best not to fight back, Emma figured.

"Take me now, knock me out, navigate my filthy mouth," Her words came as a whisper. Her voice wouldn't let her go any louder. Invited, Ivan kissed her greedily, slowly working his way to her bruised cheek. As his lips touched it, pain ran through her body. His lips traveled along the bruise until they reached her ear.

"You unleash my episodes, and crack my moral code. You're desperately delicious in your little glass life." His breath tickled her skin as he whispered. His tongue darted over the shell, making her moan lightly. He eased her down onto the cold floor, his hands traveling over her body the entire time. Ivan pushed her ruined skirt aside as her back met the floor. Her thong, a cute teal number, was intact. Ivan did notice, however, that it was slightly damp towards the center.

"Excited, da?" His breath was becoming harder to come by.

"Da." She echoed, reaching up to cup his cheek. A small grin played at the corner of his lips as he leaned down to capture her lips again. She moaned against his mouth; rough hands caressed her hips and slid over her thighs. His thick fingers found her core. They worked her open, slicking themselves in the process. They worked inside of her, brushing and gliding across the wet muscle. Emma couldn't help but moan again when his fingers prodded that one spot. Her body tensed against his. He was being awfully gentle about it. She couldn't care less at the moment.

After a few more fingers, something thicker slowly worked it's way in. Emma managed to sneak a peek; Ivan was holding the knife (crazy bastard as he was) fully on the blade, fucking her with the hilt. She would never admit that it felt really, really good, or that the sight of the self inflicted pain turned her on. Ivan's mouth traveled to her neck, suckling and nipping at the sensitive flesh. When his lips reached the base, however, it became a contest with the turtle neck she still had on. He grunted once as he removed the knife, deftly switching his grip in order to split the fabric up her stomach. _So much for getting her to climax with that_, Ivan thought irritably as the blade drew up her skin. Occassionally his grip would cause the blade to kiss her skin, revealing the red blood underneath.

Her moans brought him back to his senses. She was left unattended, and therefore unhappy. Her pout made him smile. He captured her lips again as he guided her hand to his belt. It was only fair that he get some pleasure before it became mutual again. He broke the kiss for a moment to breathe.

"Work me first, then I shall take you." His voice was definate. Emma's response was an eyelid flutter and light moan as his bloodied fingers smeared themselves along her pale skin. Her hand wrapped itself around his thick member. He bucked into her palm as her digits massaged and teased the flesh into full fledged life. Ivan couldn't help but curse in his native tongue at how well she was able to please him.

Before too much longer, he was on the edge of release. He couldn't finish it, not like this. That wouldn't be fair, would it? In his homeland, everyone was equal, and therefore deserved equal opprotunities, including pleasure. His lips crashed onto hers again; he couldn't care less about romance or being sauve.

He shoved himself inside of her, not caring if he hurt her in the process. Her pained yip fell on deaf ears. His thrusts were hard and fast. His thumb began to work her clitoris, out of habit. He continued to kiss her, trailing his lips from her mouth to her cheek to her neck and finally to her chest. He licked at the small drops of blood there, forcing her to lick and suck on his bloodied fingers. The idea did seem grotesque at first, but passion ruled over logic.

Ivan's thrusts became more frantic as the coil in his abdomen tightened itself. He didn't care if she got off. She could work herself later, if the need be. He shoved into her once more, pulling her down upon himself to get as deep as he could. She moaned at the feeling of having him inside of her fully. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth, replacing them with his mouth one last time. He thrust his tongue in roughly, tasting the sour bodily fluids. He had invaded her fully, enjoying every last second of it. It seemed like she had too.

Spent, and slightly exhausted, Ivan removed himself. He pulled his pants back up, looking at the young woman who was laying panting before him. Her legs were still spread, dried blood and ripped clothing forcing her skin to play hide and seek with his gaze.

"I shall bring new clothes for you to wear home. You may use the shower, if you wish." With that, he left the room, leaving the door open. Before he showed hospitality, he needed a drink. A few gulps of vodka later, he began to clean himself vaguely with a wet towel before grabbing a pair of extra clothes for Emma. Was he still irritated about her earlier outburst? Da. Was he irritated at himself for not punishing her like he should? Of course. But there was nothing he could do about it now. She was her own person. She belonged to no one, no matter what her and Alfred thought. Her list of bed buddies would be enough evidence for that.

The sound of water and quiet curses wafted out of the bathroom door. He pushed it open lightly, dropping the clothes onto the counter before he shucked his pants for the second time that day. He stepped into the shower, taking the washcloth from Emma's shaking hands.

"Let me, sunflower." He kissed her wet neck gently. "I am sorry for my outbreak earlier. I know you only meant well." He worked the cloth over her skin in small circles. "You and I know that it will be useless to promise that I will never do it again, though." She gave a small nod.

"I know. Ivan, you really need to work on tapping your anger, though." He wrapped an arm around her stomach.

"I know. You will help, da?"

"Da."


End file.
